


A New Vegas Minute

by ScottisI



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Action, Adventure, After Quincy, F/M, Ghouls are cool, M/M, Minuteman OC, New Vegas, Other, Wasteland, Where the heck are synths in New Vegas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 12:12:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11623272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScottisI/pseuds/ScottisI
Summary: A survivor of the Quincy Massacre heads west toward New Vegas. He doesn't know if he's the only one alive. One thing he does know is that the people of the wasteland need the minutemen regardless of location.





	A New Vegas Minute

Mason felt himself being moved. His legs dragged along the ground. He couldn't muster the strength to open his eyes. It hurt to breath.

"Come on," a gruff female voice said. "Live or die, make a choice already. I ain't robbing an injured man, but I don't mind stripping a corpse."

His world went dark.

-

Cool air caressed his skin. Mason tried to open his eyes. Only one obeyed the urge. The other was a hot bundle of pain. Stretches of skin along his torso were too tight. His mind cleared enough to recognize the sensation of stitches. Someone had patched him up. Judging by the breeze on his skin, they had stripped him too.

"Stop it now," the same voice from before said. "You stay alive another day and I'll give you a stimpack, but that don't mean you can go ripping your stitches."

He could see a vague shape out of his good eye. A sharp smell made his nose twitch. Gentle fingers spread something moist over the tight patches of skin. The pain began to ease a moment later. His eye drooped closed.

-

The sun warmed his skin. He was aware enough to feel the difference in the air. The ever-present humidity had faded to an afterthought. He was still moving, but it didn't hurt as much. Mason opened his good eye. He forced his head to stay still as he scanned the area.

He couldn't see much beyond a wood barrier lashed together with leather. The steady pace and scent of mildewed beef brought images of brahmin to mind. Exhaustion weighed down on him from the short stretch of activity.

Mason tried to stay awake longer. He was in a brahmin cart. The air was dry. His stitches didn't feel as tight and his eye didn't burn. Someone had kept infection at bay. He didn't have enough energy to keep his eye open and try take not of his situation.

-

"Hey," the voice whispered. "You alive?"

"No," Mason croaked.

"That's what I thought," the voice said with a chuckle. "Got some broth here. Ready to try it?"

"Please," he replied.

He felt strong arms prop him up just enough to get to incline his head. A smooth bowl pressed to his lips. The warm liquid touched his lips. He didn't know what it was, but it was the most amazing thing he had even had.

"Easy," the voice said as the bowl pulled away.

"Thank you," he said. His voice somewhat normal now.

"Thank me when I make you start walking," the voice laughed. "What's your name?"

"Mason."

"Name's Joan. Well, Mason," the voice shifted from beside him to above his head. "I'm about to stick you with a stimpack. These things aren't cheap and kindness isn't something I pay a merchant."

"I'll work it off," Mason replied. "I'm a decent cook and I know my way around a rifle," he paused. "Did I have any gear when you grabbed me?"

"You had a fancy jacket that I had to cut off of you and a good pair of boots," she answered. "There was a knife in one of them. No guns. No ammo."

"Damn," he muttered.

"Who are you?"

"I'm a minuteman," he said. "Or I was. I might be the only one alive now. Where are we?"

"Inland," Joan said. "I'm headed to New Vegas."

"What's in New Vegas?"

"Ghoul colony and caravans," her voice turned hard. "You got something against ghouls?"

"Only the feral ones," he answered. "Joan, I going to pass out now. You saved my life. I don't care if you're a talking molerat. I owe you."

"Damn right you do."


End file.
